


Bits In-between

by Barcardivodka



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles, tags and short stories dealing with missing scenes and all the bits in-between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of drabbles, tags and short stories dealing with missing scenes, scene POVs and all the bits in-between that need some more exploring.
> 
> With many thanks to my beta Jay. Any mistakes or spelling errors are mine, and mine alone, so please do not steal them.

_All dialogue except for the last sentence is taken from the film._

 

“So, what now?” Solo asks as he returns to his packing, turning his back on Illya. “Mission accomplished. Head back to Russia?”

Illya moves further into the room. He slowly unzips his jacket. His doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to kill the American. He’s killed before. He always follows orders. This time though, he doesn’t want to.

He’s never had a partner before. Always works alone. If it wasn’t for the American he would be dead. No-one would have grieved for him. Except, perhaps Solo and Gaby? Would they have raised a glass of vodka to honour him? The thought pleases him.

“Something like this,” He replies as Solo glances over his shoulder at his continued silence, before turning back to fuss with his belongings. “You?”

“New York.” Solo replies almost cheerily. Like he’s happy to be heading home. There will only be humiliation if Illya returns home having failed. But then, Solo hasn’t failed. He has the disk. He will undoubtedly be rewarded.

Illya reaches into his jacket and curls his fingers round the butt of his gun. He really doesn’t want to do this. He’ll have no choice but to kill. Solo is dangerous. He can’t be underestimated. Illya tries to keep his hand from trembling. He tries desperately to think of a way to make Solo give him the disk. To stand down. But all Illya can see is death. His own or Solo’s. They are both bound by leashes held tightly by unscrupulous masters. Illya by shame, Solo by blackmail. He tightens his grip on his gun.

“Oh, almost forgot, got something for you.” Solo suddenly turns and something is hurtling towards Illya. He almost draws his gun. The object is small, it’s not a weapon. Illya abandons his gun and catches it. He stares at it for a moment, unbelieving. Turns it around to check the back, to see the familiar, faded inscription. He pushes up his sleeve and fastens the watch to his wrist. He looks at Solo in astonishment. He thought his father’s watch lost forever. Given away far too cheaply for the sake of a mission. He is at a loss to articulate the feelings that rush through him. Relief. Gratefulness. Contentment.

“You know what my mission is?” he asks Solo instead.

“Same as mine was. To kill me if necessary to get that…” Solo picks up his discarded waistcoat to fully reveal the cursed disk.

Illya knows he will be going home to humiliation and shame. He cannot carry out his orders. Not now. At least his life will become much simpler. To survive in the gulag until it is deemed he has been punished enough. That he can do. It is better than killing a … friend.

“I have idea,” Solo says as he dons his waistcoat.


	2. The Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mugging scene where Illya is forced to give up his father's watch.
> 
> Illya's POV

_All dialogue from film_

“Give me the watch!” The demand’s followed with a stinging slap to Illya’s cheek from the mugger on his right.

“Give him the watch!” A second hard slap to his other check from the mugger on his left. His face flushes red with the blows and the raising fury within. His hands shake as he tries to control the urge to rip the two muggers to shreds. He has a mission to complete and a smug American to prove wrong. But it does nothing to lessen his desire to maim the two thugs before him. To keep his father’s watch safe.

Illya knows he’s damaged. That there’s something wrong with him. The uncontrollable rages are dangerous, detrimental to his own well-being. His handlers have shown him his psychological profile, it had made for grim reading. But they do nothing to heal him. They see it as a tool, another weapon for Illya to wield.

But Illya can’t control them, the fury consumes him. He fears losing himself to the violence. That he will become nothing more than a mindless beast. It’s why he excels at judo and chess. They require discipline and control, both mentally and physically. But he can still feel himself slowly slipping away, bit by bit, like limestone eroded by dripping water.

“Illya,” he looks down at Gaby barely able to hear over the roaring in his ears. “Do as he says,” she demands. She’s keeping to the part of the frightened fiancé. Illya’s struggling to play the victim, to keep their cover intact.

He slips the watch from his wrist, his fingers trembling as he does so. It’s the hardest thing he has ever had to do. The watch is his only link to his father. It’s the only possession he has from his childhood, the last connection to his mother. Everything had to be sold to survive after his father was sent to the gulag. He had offered the watch to his mother to be exchanged for some much needed food. She had smiled sadly and replaced the watch on his wrist. She sold herself instead to keep them from starving, to keep Illya in school.

He holds the watch out to the man on his right and it’s snatched away. The man spits at him and his partner laughs at the insult. Illya strikes unable to rein in the fury any longer. He punches the man who took the watch in the throat as he stares at his laughing accomplice. The man falls choking to the ground. It will be sometime before he can spit at anyone again. The second pulls a gun and Illya lunges forward, only to be stopped by the little chop shop girl as she grabs him and halts his forward momentum. He strains against her, but something stops him from sweeping her aside.

The second mugger walks around him his gun pointed squarely at Illya as he makes his way to his partner’s side. They glare at each other and Illya makes another attempt to reach him. Gaby’s hands curl round his wrists in a bruising hold.

“Calm down,” she commands and astonishingly he obeys. The red mist starts to recede, the roaring in his ears slowly fades until the sounds of the world are crystal clear once more. There is something confusingly comforting in her firm grip. No one has ever tried to stop him before. To keep him from falling into the abyss. No one has ever been that brave. The first mugger is helped to his feet and both men quickly disappear amongst the ancient ruins. Gaby releases him. The urge to kill has left him.

“Not very good at the whole subtley thing are you?” The smug, arrogant American Solo announces as he saunters towards them. He’s obviously observed the whole thing, skulking behind ancient columns.

“That man stole my father’s watch.” Illya’s unaware of the distress in his voice. He’s disappointed in himself that he allowed something so important to be taken so easily.

He has no idea, and neither does the American before him, how significant his father’s watch will become to both of them. That it will ultimately save both their lives.


	3. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tag to the escape from East Berlin scene.
> 
> Illya faces the consequences of being dropped into a middle of a minefield.

Tag to escape scene from East Berlin - Illya’s POV

It had taken them eight hours to get him out of the minefield. Eight hours of standing still, while the exact location of each mine was determined so that he could walk back to the inner wall in safety. Illya had been thankful that he was still in one piece. He’d been lucky not to have landed on a mine when the American spy had disconnected the zip-wire.  He could have spent hours writhing in agony with mortal wounds, slowly dying, as German soldiers inched their cautious why across the minefield. His broken, bleeding body a terrifying reminder of what could happen to them if they didn’t meticulously find and mark every mine.

As the hours had passed his anger at the American had grown. Illya knew that the burn of defeat was his alone. The American had bested him and Illya knew he would pay dearly for failing in his mission.

Illya ungratefully shrugged off the helping hands of the soldiers as he slid down the ladder to finally be back on the concrete streets of East Berlin and out of the lethal no-man’s land of minefields. He saw his handler, Oleg Kuznetsov, standing under a street lamp opposite the wall. Illya was tired, hungry and thirsty, and that last thing he wanted to do was face his handler. He had no choice though.

The first stinging slap was not unexpected, but Illya felt his hands start to tremble and curled them into fists as a second, harder slap snapped his head to the side. He clenched his jaw as he flushed in humiliation.

“Because of your failure, Kuryakin, I have spent half the night negotiating with the Americans,” Kuznetsov thankfully berated him in Russian, a language few of the gathered Germans would understand, although they had witnessed the physical reprimand. “I am still undecided whether, after your incompetence to send to you to the gulag, or allow you a chance to redeem yourself.”

Kuznetsov continued to speak but Illya only heard the occasional word as he fought to control his growing rage. He wanted to strike out, to release the terrible pressure in his head, the tension in his body. If he struck his superior he would be in a Siberian gulag before sundown, that’s if he could stop himself at just the one punch, otherwise it would be the firing squad.

They were options he had weighed up before. A quick death, or decades slowly rotting in the gulag, like his father had. As a KGB officer, his fate would be far worse. There would be no camaraderie with his fellow prisoners. He would be held in contempt by all. They would break him physically, until he was nothing but skin and bone, bruises and scars. His spirit would slowly wither and die as the years of hardship continued on without end. Until he begged for mercy. All the lifers begged for death. Illya knew he would be no exception.

But Illya lived with a spark of hope. A tiny spark that would not be quenched no matter what he had to do, or to endure. His KGB comrades considered his physical abilities as in-human, unnatural. He was held in fear, or considered a challenge to beat. He had never been offered their friendship, he had no experience with it. But that small piece of hope inside would whisper that one day he would find a partner who would trust him, and vice versa. That they would watch his back, who would not leave him to his fate if a mission went wrong. Or the hope that one day he would meet a woman who would not fear him, but would, in fact, come to love him. Regardless of his profession, his looming height, his rages. The spark of hope inside him was small, but it was still hope and it stopped him from doing foolish things that would extinguish it forever.

Illya flinched when he saw Kuznetsov’s hand move towards his face, but the older man just patted his cheek gently.

“Get some rest, Kuryakin. You will have a chance to prove yourself. To take what we want from beneath the Americans arrogant noses.” Kuznetsov smiled, his tone no longer filled with biting anger. “Meet me at the checkpoint at 0700 hours.” After waiting for Illya’s stiff nod of obedience, Kuznetsov turned and walked to his car parked a few feet away. Illya wasn’t offered a lift.

Illya looked at his watch. There would be no hope of finding food and a bed to sleep in at such a late hour, not without forcing a German family to offer him hospitality. The thought filled him with revulsion, although he knew some of his comrades would not hesitate to awaken a family to do their bidding, Illya knew first-hand how fearful such late night visits were. He was, however, happy to intimidate the Volkspolizei into giving him shelter and food. He’d endured their smirks and laughter all the time he was stuck, he was tired of being called a giant.  It would be good to teach them some humility. He wearily walked towards the nearest station building and fervently hoped tomorrow would be a better day. **  
**


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene after Alexander Vinciguerra’s death and the team being attended next to the helicopter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt suggested by rebelliousrose. I don't think it's quite what they had in mind, I have a strange muse. But I hope it's still enjoyable.

Missing scene after Alexander Vinciguerra’s death and the team being attended next to the helicopter.

 

“Sir.”

Alexander Waverly turned his attention away from the men who  were carefully examining the bomb and looked at the soldier who had addressed him.

“Jamison, how fares our three intrepid defenders?” He asked in his trademark cheery tone. He turned to look at the three spies. Kuryakin was leant against the helicopter, his right arm wrapped around his ribs, while his left hand moved gently over Gaby’s blanket draped shoulder in a gesture of comfort. There was also a look of tenderness on the normally stoic Russian’s face as he looked down at the seated young woman. Waverly made a mental note to speak to the young Russian and where his attentions lay. Solo was sat on the other side of them, a folded cloth pressed to his forehead. They all looked exhausted.

“They should all be in hospital, sir,” Jamison reported. “Miss Teller has several deep bruises and abrasions and possibly a concussion. Mr Solo definitely has a concussion.”

“And Mr Kuryakin?”

“Threatened to rip my balls off if I touched him, sir. But was most insistent that I check Miss Teller and Mr Solo over.” Jamison didn’t seem overly worried at Kuryakin’s threat, but then again, the man was a Navy Commando medic, he was used to dealing with surly patients. “Mr Solo said he was fine. But I understand he was hit with a tyre iron several times and got a good kicking. Mr Kuryakin, on the other hand, was forced off the road, came off his motorbike, rolled down the hill and had said motorbike land on top of him,” he reeled off, “before throwing the motorbike at the Italian bloke and then killing him with a single knife thrust. Dead as a Dodo. The Italian bloke that is.” Jamison gave an approving nod. “Educated guess, sir, I’d say Mr Kuryakin, at the very least, has got some cracked or broken ribs and probably a concussion too.”

“You seem very well informed,” Waverly observed as he looked over his team again with a more worried eye.

“Miss Teller was giving the lads a right telling off when they claimed they were fine. Mr Solo let me treat his head injury, but Mr Kuryakin still wouldn’t let me anywhere near. Suspicious lot, the Russians. Thought it best not to push it, sir.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

Waverly turned back to the bomb disposal team. “Franklin?”

“It’s an armed bomb all right, sir. But it’s not the nuclearised one,” Franklin reported.

“Damn it,” Waverly swore. “Right. Get it packed up and onto the helicopter, if you would please, Franklin. We’ll take it with us to the aircraft carrier, it might prove useful.”

“Very good, sir.” Franklin turned towards his team and started barking out orders.

“Are they able to carry on?” Waverly asked Jamison, with a nod towards the helicopter.

There was a pause before Jamison replied. “They're professionals. I expect Solo and Kuryakin have suffered worse in the field and had to keep going. And I wouldn’t fancy being the one to tell Miss Teller she had to stay behind,“ Jamison smiled. “But, when this is all done, it would be best if you ordered them all to the infirmary for a proper check-up. Don’t know how the CIA or KGB go about it, but if they’re under our watch, I would prefer we treat them as we would any of our own, sir.”

“Quite rightly so, Jamison.” Waverly replied with a smile. “Thank you.”

With a nod Jamison walked towards the second helicopter.

Waverly looked back at his team, who hadn’t moved an inch. He’d been a bit miffed when the CIA and subsequently the KGB and come blundering in on his operation and plucked Gaby from East Germany. He’d had to call in a lot of high-powered favours to take over the quickly hashed out CIA/KGB plan and provide back-up for Gaby.

Waverly had to admit he was impressed with Solo and Kuryakin and had decided they would make the perfect team, along with Gaby for the fledgling U.N.C.L.E. He would also be taking on agents that otherwise could potentially become serious risks to their respective agencies. Currently they were the best agents out there, the very best, but not for much longer.

Take Solo, recruited into the CIA by blackmail. But his servitude was quickly coming to a close and Solo was barely in his thirties. Sanders would certainly not give up such a talented agent who was still in his prime. No, there would be some underhand skulduggery, a sanctioned operation mysteriously disavowed perhaps, leading to criminal charges of murder, manslaughter, kidnapping, whatever charge would guarantee a long enough sentence to tie Solo to the CIA until he was killed or was far too old to be of use.

Waverly, on such a short acquaintance and just by reading Solo’s file could tell that Solo would bitterly resent such a devious move and would simply disappear like a wisp of smoke. If Sanders was going to treat such a valuable asset in such a way then Waverly had no compunction in stealing Solo and unclipping the leash to allow the man to finally reach his full potential.

Kuryakin was another kettle of fish entirely. The Russian needed immediate removal from the KGB if there was ever going to be any hope in saving him. He may be considered the KGB’s best, but not for very much longer. Kuryakin was struggling to control a violent psychosis that was making him useless for undercover work and would eventually reach a stage where he would have to be institutionalised, that’s if the Russian’s could be bother with such an expense. Kuryakin could very well end up living the rest of his life in chains and treated little better than a rabid dog.

But as with Solo, there was untapped potential in Kuryakin.  With further training, in a far gentler manner than the Russian had so far been subjected to, and with the help of a good psychologist, he would join Solo as being far superior than their current colleagues.

They would also be the best possible instructors for Gaby. She would benefit from CIA and KGB techniques as well as the training she would receive from Waverly.

Yes, those three were not only the start, but also the future of U.N.C.L.E. Waverly started to walk towards the trio, but for now though they had a delivery of a nuclear bomb to stop.

“Well done chaps,” he said by way of greeting, “there’s just one snag. Wrong warhead.” **  
**


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo’s POV as he saves Illya from drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from thesocialwolves. Hope it comes somewhere near to what you had envisaged.

Solo’s POV as he saves Illya from drowning

The speedboat Peril had commandeered exploded into flames and started to sink beneath the waters of the harbour. Solo let out a pragmatic sigh, before putting the truck into gear and driving away. But after a few yards the thoughts tumbling through his conscience caused him to stop and pull the hand brake, the engine idly rumbling.

It didn’t seem right. To leave the Russian to his fate. But he was dead, Solo tried to convince himself. Either shot or caught in the explosion. He should return to the hotel, get Gaby to safety in case they fished Peril’s body out of the harbour.

If Peril had caught him in East Berlin Solo doubted the Russian would have saved him from being tortured. No, that wasn’t fair. That was before. Before they became partners in this strange caper that Sanders and Peril’s controller had concocted.

But Peril had endangered the mission three times, twice over a watch! He was a liability. The watch had lead them to the vault though and the piece of centrifuge, that Peril had been able to identify. And he’d been able to determine that the Vinciguerra’s were further along in enriching the uranium thanks to his treated photographic film. But, then there was Peril’s temper, which he seemed to have little control over, what had his file called it? A psychosis of some sort. There had been no mention in the file of Peril receiving any treatment. Did the Soviets even bother treating such illnesses? And who could blame Peril for being screwed up after the childhood he’d had. Hell, Solo had lied about his age and gone to war in Europe to escape his shitty family.

Bottom line though, they had agreed on a partnership, just for tonight. Partners watched out for each other, or Solo was lead to believe. Solo didn’t believe in giving his word lightly, but when he did he honoured it, always. Besides, Peril was starting to grow on him. The Russian might even have a sense of humour tucked away in that stoic, overly tall body of his. That’s if he was still alive.

Solo put the truck in reverse.

TMFU TMFU

Solo broke through the surface of the water and gulped in a quiet breath as he tilted Peril’s head back and thumped him hard in the back, once, twice until Peril choked up water. Solo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Keep quiet,” he warned. He waited a second to make sure Peril understood that he was once again aware of the situation they were in. “Follow me.”

He kept a hand wrapped around Peril’s jacket as they swam to the harbour wall. The Russian followed him obediently, breathing hoarsely as he continued to cough up water.

Solo helped haul him out of the water, letting him rest for a movement.

“How did you get here?” Solo asked as he check their surroundings for any Vinciguerra guards.

“Stole car,” Peril rasped. “Other side of building.” He pointed in the general direction of the satellite factory that they had just escaped from, on the other side of the harbour. “You?”

“Vespa,” Solo held out a hand and helped pull Peril to his feet. “I hid it just outside the village. We need to get back to the hotel. The Vinciguerra’s will undoubtedly check on us.”

Peril nodded his agreement and followed Solo as they jogged back to the village.

They were nearly at the Vespa’s hiding place when Solo heard Peril stumble, followed by the sound of retching. He turned to see the Russian bent over, with his hands on his knees, vomiting onto the grass verge.

“Peril? You okay?”

“I’m ok,” he was reassured as Peril wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled himself to his full height, swaying for a moment before taking a step forward. Solo stopped him with a hand to his chest and gave him a questioning look. “Hit head when boat exploded. Is nothing. We are wasting time.”

Solo nodded. He was fairly certain Peril was suffering from a concussion but he guessed it took more than that and a near drowning to stop someone as large as the Russian. He turned to retrieve the Vespa. Peril hopped on behind him, his long legs tucked in awkwardly as he grabbed hold of Solo’s jacket.

“Hold on tight,” Solo said over his shoulder as he started the engine, “And remember we forget about this in the morning.”

Solo smiled as heard Peril grumble something behind him as they roared their way back to Rome. He felt strange inside, lighter, as if … content. Saving Peril, saving his partner, had been the right thing to do.


	6. Hotel Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene between Gaby and Illya after he returns to the hotel room after the satellite factory break-in
> 
> Illya/Gaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks, as always, to my beta Jay.

_Italics denotes dialogue from movie_

Missing scene between Gaby and Illya after he and Solo return to the hotel after factory break-in.

 

 

 _“Doesn’t sound like he needs your help,”_ Gaby said, a little more cutting than she had intended. Illya nodded absently as he looked down at the transmitter in his hand forlornly.

“Where did you go tonight?” She asked. He had left the hotel room not long after dark. His only comment to her was that he was going to check something out and would return in a few hours. He hadn’t waited for her to reply before slinking out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Illya raised his gaze from the transmitter. “We went to search satellite factory. Cowboy set off alarm.”

“Who is he ... entertaining?” Gaby paced to the bar, she was going to need a drink or two to get through the night.

“Victoria Vinciguerra.” They both looked up at the ceiling as another bump started the chandeliers swaying again.

Gaby, in fact, knew all this. Waverly had told her. She didn’t know how he knew what Solo and Illya had been up to at the factory.  But because of what had happened tonight and Illya’s behaviour at the racetrack, she had been instructed to betray them when she met Uncle Rudi the next day. She wasn’t sure she would be able to do it. It filled her with dread that her actions might injure Solo or Illya. Waverly had assured her that both men were more than capable of looking after themselves and able to turn any situation to their advantage.  Gaby poured herself a large vodka and downed it in one gulp.

“Do you want one?” She waved the vodka bottle at Illya. He shook his head. Gaby frowned as she took in Illya’s stance. He was still stood in the same position with his shoulders hunched and had an air of vulnerability about him.  Gaby put the vodka bottle down and walked slowly towards him. She had never seen Illya deny his height before. He was always ramrod straight, regardless that he stood head and shoulders over everyone.

“Illya, are you…,” she paused as she reached his side and noticed a trickle of blood coming from behind his ear, weaving its way down his neck.

“What’s this?” Gaby reached up and wiped her fingers against the smear, her eyes widening as Illya flinched from her. She held up her hand so he could see the blood on them. His hand shot up and probed along his neck and hairline. His fingers also came away bloody.

“Sit down,” Gaby ordered. There was no way she was going to be able to get a good look at the wound without Illya sitting down or unless she stood on something.

“I’m fine,” he gave her one of his smiles as if to reassure her. Gaby wasn’t entirely sure that Illya’s smiles could be classed as such. He merely lifted the corners of his mouth for a brief moment. Gaby wondered if smiling was discouraged in the KGB or was it because Illya had so little opportunity to smile throughout his life that he had forgotten how? She knew nothing of his life, but how did someone, not much older than herself, become so stoic, so … joyless?

No. That wasn’t right. She was learning that Illya’s eyes gave him away. What was hidden behind the walls and razor wire he had built inside himself, shone through those blue, mesmerising orbs… Gaby blinked, then blushed, as she caught herself staring into Illya’s eyes.

“Sit down,” she commanded again, her tone snappish as she fought to control her emotions. She grabbed Illya’s arm in an attempt to physically make him obey and encountered wet cloth.

She lifted his arm so that she could inspect the sleeve of his jacket. Then she rubbed the fabric of his turtleneck, then his trousers.

“Illya, why are your clothes wet? What did you and Solo get up to tonight?”

“Is nothing.” Illya hedged again. “We had to make quick exit.”

“How did you hurt your head?”

Illya shrugged. “I think I was hit by debris when boat exploded.” Gaby looked at him in horror.  He took a step away from her when he realised he’d said too much, his eyes wide with apprehension.

“When the boat exploded?” She asked very calmly. Well that explained why Illya was wet.

“Yes, we tried to escape from harbour in powerboat,” he started off, in what Gaby suspected he thought was an unconcerned tone. “Cowboy fell off, which was good thing; otherwise he would have been sho… Is long story. Cowboy better storyteller. He will tell you tomorrow. Time for bed.”

Gaby folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. “Everything from after you left the hotel room to when you came back. Now.”

Illya’s posture slumped even further, but he started to speak.

Gaby listened in dismay as he recounted the moment the boat exploded and he was propelled into the water, already unconscious.

“Cowboy came back and pulled me out,” he frowned in puzzlement, as if he couldn’t make out Solo’s motives for saving him.

When he’d finished, he looked down at her and tugged his mouth into a wry smile. “Not such a good mission,” he admitted ruefully.

“Not so much,” Gaby agreed. “You should get out of those wet things and then I’ll take a look at your head.” She stepped closer and started to tug at his jacket. Illya made the whole process easier by shrugging out of it.

“I’m…” He started to say, only to have Gaby wave her index finger menacingly under his nose.

“If the next word is fine, I’ll do more than just wrestle you,” she threatened.

“Is that promise?” he asked, giving an honest to goodness proper smile. Just for a moment. It lit up his entire face, making him look carefree and had held a smouldering potential. Gaby lowered her gaze as her breath caught in her throat. To cover her confusion, she grabbed the hem of his turtleneck and started to tug it up. Strong hands gently wrapped themselves around her wrists, stalling their movement.

“No.” Illya shook his head.

“I need to see if you have any more injuries,” she argued.

“No. Some bruises at most. Nothing more.”

“I should check, just to make sure.”

He shook his head again. “No. It is okay.”

She frowned for a moment. about to get angry at Illya’s refusal, not understanding the reasons behind it when she remembered that she would betray him tomorrow. She would be putting him and Solo into a dangerous position, they could be hurt, or worse, because of her, because of what she had been ordered to do. She had no right to demand anything from Illya.

She took a step away from him and nodded.

“You should take a shower,” she suggested, her face showing nothing of her inner torment. “Then I’ll check the wound on your head.”

Illya submitted to her request without protest and after rummaging around in his suitcase for a moment, he disappeared into the bathroom.

Gaby went back to the bar and poured herself another vodka. After she had seen to Illya’s injury, she would tell him about the phone call from Uncle Rudi and the subsequent meeting. She cursed to herself. She knew Solo and Illya would come up with a plan to keep her safe, and it made her heart pound in fear that she could be leading one of them straight into the hands of her Uncle and the Vinciguerra’s. She went to gulp down her drink but put it down instead, pushing it away. She would need a clear head for tomorrow.

She glanced at the bathroom door and then down at the ring Illya had given her.

How had she grown so fond of someone who had scared her witless only days before? Illya had seemed like an unstoppable force that night. Now … now she knew that Illya had a kind and gentle heart that he struggled to protect from the harsh realities demanded of him from his beloved Russia.  But Gaby had seen it. She wanted to see more. She wanted to peel back the layers that Illya protected himself with and find the true man inside. She wanted to make him smile, to laugh. She wanted to make love to him, passionately, roughly, so that he would forget all those that had come before her. So he would only remember the East German chop shop girl.

But after tomorrow neither Illya nor Solo would ever want to see her again.

She could only hope that Waverly was right, that the father that had abandoned her for much of her life, was worth enduring even more heartache for.


	7. Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo’s POV when he discovers and retrieves Illya’s watch

Solo watched as Peril took the left tunnel to do a sweep for the missing Gaby. At the sound of raised voices he took a step forward, giving him a clear view on the tunnel that had lead them to Dr Teller’s bomb-making workshop.

Two guards rounded the corner at speed and Solo reacted immediately and fired at them, watching them fall to the floor dispassionately. He took a step over one of the guards Peril had dispatched earlier and paused as he saw a hand stretching out in a futile attempt to reach their fallen weapon. Solo stepped on the arm, stopping the motion.

He tilted his head as he looked at the man’s watch. It was similar in design to the one worn by the satellite factory guard that Peril had knocked unconscious. He had risked so much just because he thought it was his father’s watch. Although, the incident had led them to more evidence that proved the Vinciguerra’s had nearly completed the production of a nuclear bomb.

Solo frowned as he considered the watch, the word ‘Победа’ on the watch’s face stared back at him. He bent and flicked the hat off the guard’s head and looked down at one of the muggers that had been sent to test out Peril’s and Gaby’s undercover story.

“That’s not yours, is it?” he asked pleasantly, but the question was rhetorical. He raised the butt of his gun and slammed it down hard across the other man’s jaw. He heard the jaw break as the man slumped into unconsciousness. Solo unstrapped the watch and turned it over in his hand. There was a faded inscription on the back in Russian. Solo assumed the names were Peril’s parents, his mother giving the watch to his father on their first wedding anniversary.

Solo pocketed the watch, knowing Peril would be pleased at its return. The Russian had certainly been distressed by its loss. Solo recalled the look on Peril’s face as he went to check the time when they were flying to the aircraft carrier, to witness such sadness, even for a moment, had tugged at something inside Solo. Whilst he wasn’t overly fond of the KGB agent, he’d proven to be a reliable and efficient partner – one of the best Solo had worked with  **-** not that he would ever tell Peril that. Peril’s file had made grim reading and Solo was fairly certain that the watch was Peril’s only personal possession. Its return might even get a smile out of the stoic man and would give Solo ample fodder for some gently teasing.

He had no idea that the watch would ultimately save both his and Peril’s lives.


	8. Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aircraft carrier – after jeep crash. “What’s going on while Gaby is finding clothes after the jeep crash?” based on prompt by rebelliousrose 
> 
> Waverly's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [rebelliousrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelliousrose/pseuds/rebelliousrose)

_Dialogue in italics from movie_

 

_“What about fishing boats leaving the mainland?”_

“Excellent suggestion, Kuryakin,” Waverly replied after a moment’s silence. “Captain, perhaps you could arrange for the Harbour Master to be brought aboard with all haste, along with a list of all the registered fishing boats in the area?” Although Waverly addressed the Captain in a friendly, cheery manner, the question was not a request, but a politely framed order.

“Of course,” the Captain nodded. He turned towards his crew, barking out orders as he made his way towards the bridge, his entourage of officers following in his wake.

“Gentlemen, Gaby, perhaps you would like to take the chance to freshen up while we wait for the Harbour Masters arrival,” Waverly suggested. “I understand the medics would like to give you a more comprehensive examination.” He hid his smile at the horrified looks on the men’s faces.

“Perhaps after the mission, sir,” Solo compromised. Kuyrakin nodded his head in agreement.

“I am fine,” he stated. As the other three turned to look at him with varying degrees of disbelief he belatedly moved the arm he had wrapped round his ribs and stood at parade rest.

“I would like to change, it that’s possible?” Gaby asked quietly, taking the unwanted attention away from Kuryakin.

“Yes, of course.” Waverly instantly agreed. “The Captain has placed his cabin at your disposal.”

TMFU

Although Waverly had expected the two men to refuse any further medical treatment, he was concerned that Gaby also turned down the offer. She had finally promised him that she would submit to a thorough examination when the mission was over.

It wasn’t the fact that she was a female that had prompted his insistence, but the fact that she was his agent and he was responsible for her wellbeing. Particularly as he had been caught off-guard when Solo and then Kuryakin had stumbled into his operation.

Gaby had handled herself superbly well and he had already set in motion the paperwork to grant her political asylum and British citizenship, both mere formalities. She was going to make an exceptional agent for his new endeavour.

After tracking down the smallest flight crew coveralls on the ship, Waverly had left Gaby to change in the Captain’s cabin. He had left a Rating standing guard outside the door, who would escort Gaby to the mess when she was ready.

He went to check on the two men that he’d left in the mess with instructions to the catering staff to provide them with a hot meal. He knew for a fact that neither man had eaten for over twenty-four hours.

As he entered the mess, he noticed that both men were sat on the same side of a table, with their backs against the wall and facing the door. They looked up when Waverly entered, after a moment’s pause they both went back to eating.

Kuryakin was almost inhaling the food like a starving wolf, one arm wrapped around his ribs again. Solo sat with his right elbow on the table and his hand pressed to his head. He was doing a slightly better job of eating more civilly, but not by much.

“Ere, you go gents,” a catering steward said as he walked up to the table with two mugs in his hand. “One coffee for you, mate,” he placed a mug in front of Solo, “and a strong black cuppa for you, Comrade.” He placed the other mug in front of Kuryakin. “You ready for seconds? Or straight on to pudding?”

“Pudding?” Solo asked with frown.

“Spotted dick and custard.”

The reply even made Kuryakin stop eating, as both men looked at the catering steward in bewilderment.

“Dried fruit in a suet pastry,” the steward explained with a laugh. “Guess it’s something you have to be brought up with.”

“I would like more stew, please. Is good.” Kuryakin requested.

“Right you are, and you mate?”

“This is fine, thank you.”

“Anything for you, sir?” The steward asked Waverly.

“A tea would be lovely, thank you, Franks,” Waverly sat down opposite the two men as Franks made his way back to the kitchen.

“Is Gaby okay?” Kuryakin asked mildly, his tone didn’t fool Waverly for one moment.

“She’s fine. She’ll be along in a moment or two.”

Franks reappeared with the requested items. “Can I have another tea and a plate of stew?” Waverly ordered for Gaby.

“Of course, sir,” he nodded and retreated back to the kitchen.

“Once the mission is completed gentleman, you will both agree to that medical examination,” Waverly held his hand up to ward of the protests. “Or I will inform your respective agencies of the injuries I believe you have sustained and recommend a hospital stay.” Not that he had any intention of giving back the two men to their agencies. If everything fell into place, they would be his for the foreseeable future.

Solo sighed in resignation, while Kuryakin looked positively horrified.

“I am fine,” he stated.

“Yes, you’ve said that before, Kuryakin and I didn’t believe you the first time,” Waverly countered. “The fact that you are yet again holding the ribs on your left side would suggest your statement is blatantly untrue.”

Kuryakin lowered his arm but said nothing as his cheeks turned a faint pink. Waverly turned in his seat as both men suddenly look to the door.

“Ah, Gaby, feeling better?” Waverly asked, as he stood and waved her into his vacant seat.

“Yes, thank you.”

The coveralls were far too big for her. She had rolled the sleeves and the legs up several times and a belt was cinched around her waist in an attempt to stop all the loose cloth from billowing around her.

“I’ve order you some tea and …. Ah, here we are, thank you, Franks.” Waverly waited while Franks placed the tea and stew in front of Gaby. “Once you’ve finished eating, Crewman Peters,” he waved a hand in the direction of the door where the young Rating who had escorted Gaby from the Captain’s cabin stood, “will show you the way to the bridge.” Waverly looked at his watch. “The Harbour Master will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll see you on the bridge.” With a parting smile he left them.

Solo and Kuryakin were both resourceful men, intelligent and experienced. They were used to dealing with dwindling odds and still winning. The two of them along with Gaby had the makings of a good team, with their help; U.N.C.L.E could finally become a reality.

But first things first he cautioned himself, he had to bring this current mission to a satisfactory conclusion. They had under an hour to find and stop the delivery of a nuclear bomb to a group of people who would make the Cold War look like a childish falling out.

Impossible odds, but Waverly was willing to stake his family’s fortune that his team would beat them.

 


	9. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene after Illya saves Solo from Uncle Rudi (based on prompts)

Illya looked across at Solo as they walked from the building. The American was fussing with the jacket he held, dismayed that it had been irrevocably damaged by the stench of Uncle Rudi’s burning body. He didn’t seem to notice that he was swaying as he walked, unable to keep to a straight even pace. Illya reached out and tugged at Solo’s elbow, pulling him away from a potentially painful collision with a short column of stones that had once been part of a boundary wall. Solo looked up from examining his jacket and gave Illya a nod of thanks.

Illya was astonished the other man was able to walk at all. He was well versed in torture techniques; he knew the effects that prolonged electrocution could do to a body. The fact that Solo had started to bleed from the nose was concerning.

“You sure you okay, Cowboy?” He felt compelled to ask again.

“I’m fine, Peril. A little twitchy still,” he gave Illya a tired, but honest smile. 

They reached the delivery van Illya had rented for his surveillance on Uncle Rudi and Gaby – until she had betrayed them. Disappointment and anger washed through him at Gaby’s treachery, she had endangered them both with little concern. Solo could have died - an agonising and prolonged death. Thankfully the American’s bug detection equipment had failed to pick up the new style bugging devices Illya had put in his shoes. Illya didn’t want to contemplate Solo’s fate if he’d failed to arrive before Rudi gave in to his ‘old-fashion ‘style of torture.

“I’ll drive.” Solo announced, pulling Illya from his thoughts.

“You can’t even walk in straight line, Cowboy. I will drive. You will rest.”

Solo let out one of his exaggerated sighs and draped his jacket over his arm.

“You’ll need to use the radio telephone to report in,” he explained, “and communications is one of your specialities. Considering that we appear to be somewhere rural, your expertise in getting through will be required. Ergo, I will drive while you report in.”

“I do not like this plan,” Illya stated. “I will report in now and then I will drive us back to Rome.”

Solo tilted his head towards the building, Illya turned. Smoke was pouring from it. It wouldn’t be long before the flames burnt through from the underground bunker and consumed the building above.

“It would be best if we vacated the area immediately, before the smoke draws attention.”

Illya reluctantly nodded his agreement. He was fairly certain he had neutralised all the guards, but others may arrive to investigate or to replace those going off-duty.

“Okay. We do it your way. For now.”

Solo smiled smugly and moved to open the driver’s door, pulling his hand back with a hiss of pain and clenching it into a fist. The pain etched on his features was the same as when Illya had stepped on the foot pedal and sent a bolt of electricity through Rudi and inadvertently through Solo who was still securing the sadistic German to the chair. Illya had been horrified that he’d caused Solo more pain, particularly when he’d already endured so much.

The American’s fortitude impressed Illya. He may act with smug indifference, but he was intelligent and resourceful – Illya was enjoying working with him, not that he would ever admit that to another living soul.

Illya reached around Solo and opened the door for him, before walking to the other side and sliding into the passenger seat.

Solo started the van without further incident and Illya pulled the radio telephone from behind the seat where he had placed it.

As the Italian countryside whipped past them and Solo proved that he could drive in a reasonably straight line, Illya started the laborious task of contacting either his or Solo’s handler to report in.

“Thank you,” Solo suddenly said.  “I don’t think I could have endured much more.” He glanced at Illya before turning his gaze back to the road ahead.

“I… I never thanked you for saving me,” Illya replied. “I am not used to anyone coming back for me.” He admitted.

“It’s a rather unique experience for me as well,” Solo replied.  They lapsed into silence as they concentrated on their required tasks. 

For the first time since they met, they were neither American nor Russian, CIA or KGB operatives. 

They were partners. 


	10. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly makes contact with Gaby after her escape from East Berlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks, as always to Jay.

Gaby stalked back into the  _ ‘Raffinert’ _ fashion boutique deliberately avoiding making eye contact with the KGB agent. As she made her way to the changing rooms she stripped off the jacket of her Patou ensemble and threw it uncaringly on the floor.

“That really isn’t how you should treat an expensive piece of clothing,” an English accented voice suddenly said.

Gaby spun to her left as a man materialised from the shadows.

“Waverly!” she cried in surprised relief covering the distance between them, startling the Englishman as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

“Ah. There, there,” Waverly soothed, awkwardly patting her shoulder before throwing propriety out of the window and returning the embrace. “It’s alright, Miss Teller.”

She broke the hug and took a few steps back so that she could look at the man without craning her neck. “I can’t do this, Waverly. The KGB are involved…”

Waverly placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. “My dear Miss Teller, you are more than capable of dealing with this situation,” he reassured. “I must confess the Americans impetuous and somewhat dangerous plan did catch me off guard. But I have everything in place to provide backup for you now.”

“What about the KGB? Am I part of the deal with the Americans? If I return home they will imprison me … or worse,” she replied bitterly.

“You have nothing to fear, Miss... Gaby. You won’t be going back. You’re one of my agents. When this is all done, you’ll be coming back to England with me.” Waverly comforted. “Although this wasn’t quite how I expected to extract you from East Berlin, we need to work it to our advantage. Their plan is reasonably sound and I’m hoping to be in a position to take over the operation officially fairly shortly.” He squeezed her right shoulder and stepped back into the shadows.

“Wait! What about Solo? The KGB agent? Can I… do you trust them?”

“They are both very competent agents. I have had them thoroughly checked out . They will keep you safe.”

“The Russian. He’s the same one that chased us. He… I’m… he frightens me.” Gaby confessed. “I don’t want to be alone with him. What if he…” she shook her head, torn between being the agent Waverly had been training her to be and an East Germany woman forced into the company of a KGB agent twice her size. An organisation she had been taught to fear, along with the Stasi.

Waverly took a step towards her and cupped his hands around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.

“Illya Kuryakin is a loyal agent. But he is a moral man, as much as he can be in his chosen vocation. But I promise you, Gaby, he will not hurt you. As skilled and deadly as he can be, he will protect you with his life during the mission. As will Solo.” Waverly paused for a moment. “Be yourself, Gaby. Do not fear Kuryakin and when he seems at his most terrifying, treat him with kindness,” he added cryptically, as he stepped back into the shadows. “I’ll be in the same hotel in Rome. Be assured, Gaby, I’ll be close by.”

He vanished as silently as he had appeared.

Gaby took a deep breath as she stepped into the changing room and stripped off the Patou, pulling on the new dress, admiring its bolder cut and colour. She pushed her hair up into the hat briefly taking a moment to admire herself in the mirror and then picked up the handbag, almost gasping aloud at the astronomical price of such a small item. With another calming breath she headed back out to the two men waiting for her.

“Have you seen the price of this handbag? It costs more than my car,” she announced as they turned to look at her, having been in a mist of a spat of some sort.

“You can get back on your horse now, cowboy,” Kuryakin said snidely to Solo who was giving Gabby an admiring look.

“I’ll see you in Rome,” Solo announced to her, ignoring Kuryakin.

Then she was alone with the Russian and for the first time, really looked at him, looking for the man Waverly obviously knew him to be. She trusted Waverly. He had kept her safe despite the surveillance she had been under since her father had disappeared from under the Americans noses. Waverly had vouched for the man who was so strong he had slowed her car to a crawl and then ripped the back off with his bare hands. A man that was at least a foot taller than her.

As Kuryakin twirled her around admiring the dress and pressed a ring into her hand with a tenderness she had not expected, Gaby felt the fear start to ebb away. She could do this. She was the key to their mission, both Solo and Kuryakin needed her.

**She, for once, held all the power. And for the first time, she really believed she could do this. **


	11. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby discovers her uncle tortured Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Matteic: Gaby discovers her uncle tortured Solo - Waverly's presence would be a plus

“What?”

Gaby spun around to face the three men as the horrific words flung out during the argument between Waverly and Solo struck home. The blood drained from her face as she stared at Solo in shock.  Illya was at her side in an instant and she clung to him in desperation, looking up at him, her eyes wide with dismay.

“Rudi tortured Solo? After I betrayed you both?” She saw the truth in his eyes. Illya could never lie to her. “Oh my God.”

“Gaby, it was months ago. Peril came to my rescue before your Uncle could get too up close and personal.” Solo replied as he pushed his chair back and stood up, seemingly unconcerned about how close he had come to a very painful and ugly end.

“But…” her eyes flicked towards Solo, disbelief at the way he was casually just throwing this off. He could have been seriously hurt, he could have died.  The result of her actions made her shudder, that the outcome could have been so very different **.**

“You were obeying orders, Gaby. Sometimes … they have consequences for other agents.” Illya added in an attempt to ease her conscience.

“Did you know this could have happen? When you told me to betray them?” Gaby turned to Waverly. She wasn’t looking to absolve herself from blame. She knew Ilya had been listening to every word she said and would have been given enough time to avoid capture. In her inexperience, she hadn’t given a thought to Solo.  Shame burned through her.

“It was a possible outcome,” Waverly acknowledged, still looking guilty from having inadvertently blurted out the fact. “One of many factors I considered before I gave you that order.”

“One rather painful death can’t be weighed against the possible death of thousands, if not millions of people.” Solo stated. “It’s one of the consequences of being in the business that we are.”

“You could have died,” she snapped out, “slowly and painfully, because of what I did,” she finished on a sob unable to comprehend Solo’s casual acceptance of death. A death she would have caused, because of her family.

Solo moved towards Gaby and with a nod to Illya gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Gaby, it’s done with. I can’t say it was a pleasant experience, but I survived it, thanks to our Russian comrade here and his obsession with bugging things.” Even after months working together Illya still hadn’t gotten out of the habit of bugging them. Rooms, clothes, shoes, cars, jewellery or the one memorable moment he had made Solo swallow a bug when he was going in undercover at a nudist colony.  “You can’t dwell on what could have happened. It didn’t happen. You are not your uncle nor your father. You helped save the world from a very uncertain future.”

“As Cowboy says, it is done. If you start to second guess yourself, you will get us all killed.” Illya added, pointing out the harsh truth.

“If anyone must carry the burden, it’s me and I carry it willing.” Waverly cut in. “It was never my intention to cause harm to either Solo or Kuryakin. At that point in the mission the two of them were starting to work well together and I had calculated that they would cover each other’s backs if things went pear shaped. And as Kuryakin had bugged you, it was a high probability that he’d also secreted bugs onto Solo too. But they are quite correct. You cannot dwell on this; it will make you a liability to your team if you start to over analyse every action or every order you given.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment as Gaby looked at them each in turn looking for the truth of their words.

“What did he do to you?” Gaby asked Solo quietly, who had long since removed his hands from her shoulders after a pointed look from Illya.

Solo shook his head. “You don’t need to know that.”

“What did he do?” She implored Illya.

“It is not my story to tell. But I nearly got eaten by Rottweiler's,” Illya replied in a poor attempt at humour.

“But I …” Gaby sighed and finally nodded her head in acceptance. “Very well. But I am sorry, Solo… Napoleon. I’m so sorry you were hurt.”

“Apology accepted.” He offered Gaby his arm. “I think this deserves a long lunch at that little pub by the river, don’t you think so, sir?”

“Indeed.” Waverly agreed. “But please do return at some point this afternoon. You and I have a conversation to finish.”

With a nod of agreement, Solo escorted Gaby from the room, Illya lagging behind for a moment as he passed Waverly. Gaby watched suspiciously from the doorway as words were exchanged between the two men. Their body language reminded relaxed and at ease and the rare full smile Illya gave her when he joined them made her forget to ask what he had said to Waverly.

 

TMFU

 

Waverly stood by his office window and watched with a smile as Solo and Kuryakin tried to fit into Gaby’s Mini with as much dignity as possible. Solo obviously having lost the argument of who got to sit in the front seat.

He turned back to his desk and the numerous files it held. He knew that by letting slip Gaby’s uncle had tortured Solo he had risked a much bigger fallout than what had just occurred. However, he had counted on the strong bonds of the team to keep Gaby from falling too far into a quagmire of guilt. Solo, and Kuryakin, viewed being tortured as an occupational hazard and Waverly knew they wouldn’t hold either Gaby or himself in contempt for what had had to be done.

He also knew he couldn’t keep Gaby from knowing what Rudi had done in the Nazi concentration camps during the war. Even if Kuryakin had warned him not to be so loose with his tongue in regards to that subject. But Rudi’s name had repeatedly come up during investigations into war crimes. For now it was hidden, but Waverly had exerted all the power he had in keeping it from the public records for as long as he could. Sooner or later Rudi Von Trulsch’s inexcusable deeds would become public knowledge.

And as Waverly’s mother had always said – forewarned is forearmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this story. I think it would have been better from Solo's POV. I may add that version at a later date to redeem myself.


	12. The Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did Illya get the second engagement ring from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Ashley: Can you do a story explaining where Illya got the second bugged ring in only a few hours?

Illya glanced over at the sleeping Gaby as he opened the suitcase at the foot of his bed. He rummaged under his clothing and opened the false bottom that hid the harder to explain equipment he liked to carry. He pulled out a few items, and with a final look at Gaby he moved into the large living room.

The room was a trashed mess. Righting an armchair and the table, he set his equipment out. He’d have to come up with a plausible excuse for the mess in the morning. He didn’t think the hotel staff would believe a wrestling match between himself and his much smaller fiancé wrecked the room. He was having a hard time believing it and he was involved in it.

He could have stopped it, but that would have meant putting Gaby in a hold that could have hurt her and besides he’d enjoyed it. Although petite, Gaby was strong and cunning. He’d liked having her scrambling all over him; it had felt good to be touched by a woman again, even if Gaby was only trying to pin him. When she had finally pinned him, and her face inched ever closer to his, his hands moving down to her waist, the anticipation of that first sweet kiss had almost overwhelmed him. That near kiss would warm him in future darker days that were sure to come.

As he reached for his pouch of bugs he frowned at his bare left wrist. The loss of his father’s watch had hurt. Sorrow bit into him. One of his few personal possessions lost forever. There was no point dwelling on such losses, he reminded himself. It was just a watch after all. The KGB would replace it for free. The watch would have ended up being buried with him. To rot away alongside him. At least this way it might survive, sold on by the thief, perhaps to someone who would cherish it also.  He rubbed a hand over his left wrist and knew he was fooling himself. The loss had devastated him and he would have to live with the knowledge that he allowed it to be taken so cheaply. No one else would ever understand how important it was too him.

He pulled the pouch towards him, firmly concentrating on the task at hand and selected an appropriately sized location and audio transmitter from his collection. Unrolling his tools, he pulled out a pair of pliers and very carefully removed the metal pins from the bottom of the bug. From a small black drawstring bag, he took out a piece of gaudy looking custom jewellery that he had purchased at the same time as the genuine diamond engagement ring.

With the pliers he carefully removed the hideous centrepiece and meticulously tightened the casings of the surrounding fake diamonds. The ring was silver plated, but would pass as silver if not closely inspected. Illya unwound the cord from his soldering iron and stood up to plug it in and allow it to heat up. The iron was made in the USSR. At thirty-one centimetres long with a sturdy wooden handle it was excellent for the purpose it had been built for, to be used in factories. But for more intricate use Illya had found it clumsy and unyielding. He had spent many dark winter nights making different size tips that could be slotted over the fixed iron, depending on what he needed. It had taken sometime to perfect the tips, his knowledge of metalwork growing as he finally hit upon the correct design to allow the tips to be fitted over the larger iron, with only a small loss of heat.  From his kit he selected the smallest and slipped it over the already warming iron.

He placed the bug into the ring, using the pliers to pull out the casing that had held the centrepiece so that the bug would fit snuggly.  Licking his index finger, he tested the heat of the iron, pulling his finger quickly away before it could be burnt. With a piece of silver soldering wire, he attached the bug to the ring, working slowly and carefully so that the soldered joins blended in with the ring and no blobs of melted wire marred the smooth finish or bubbled over onto the double row of glass diamonds.

Satisfied that the bug was firmly attached and the ring would pass as something more expensive than it was, Illya picked up his receiving transmitter and thoroughly tested it. Content that everything was in working order, he tidied up his tools and unplugged the soldering iron. While he waited for the iron to cool down, he restored the room to some sort of order. He picked up his chessboard and pieces, eventually finding the black king under the television and laid out a new game.

He played for the next hour. Concentrating on the movement of the pieces  as he cleared his mind of the frustrations of the day, the loss of his father’s watch and pushed the swirling anger back deep inside him. Ready for whatever the next day brought.


End file.
